


Something Lonesome About You

by gay_writes_with_mac



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Asperger Syndrome, Found Family, Gen, Holtz-centric, Insecurity, because when is it not, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 23:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_writes_with_mac/pseuds/gay_writes_with_mac
Summary: Holtz has a lot to say. She just doesn't know how to say any of it. Luckily, Abby's pretty good at filling in the blanks.





	Something Lonesome About You

It’s shockingly easy to hide in plain sight.

Even with their faces plastered on the TV above their heads, none of the other patrons give the Ghostbusters a second look, other than to eye Erin’s atrociously red hair. Something about blending in takes some of the initial tension out of Holtz’s shoulders, and she’s able to relax enough to stop tapping her fingers on the tabletop, settling for bouncing her knee under the linen tablecloth. 

She hadn’t wanted to go out so soon, fearing recognition, and even worse, admiration. She doesn’t feel like someone to be particularly admired. But she’s been stopped sixteen times on the subway and in the streets since saving the city, and that’s just her alone, not accompanied by her three teammates. Being asked to sign autographs brings a flush to her cheeks that burns a little, and agreeing to sign them feels like she’s doing something illegal, and any minute now, someone’s going to tap on her shoulder and ask her exactly who she thinks she is. 

She’s not all that special. She’s good with her hands and smarter than average, that’s all. She’s not a celebrity, or at least she’s not worthy of being one; at best, she deserves a moment on the news before fading into oblivion. Definitely not a ceremony scheduled for the mayor to present her and her friends with the key to the city.

_ Friends.  _ There’s that word again. Holtz swore off that word in eighth grade, when she decided it was time to stop deluding herself that she’d ever have any. But it’s back, and she’s been catching herself using it more and more frequently. 

Something lightly tickles her back, and Holtz stiffens at the touch before realizing that a) it’s just Patty’s hand and b) she’s hunched in on herself, her body riddled with tension. “Loosen up a little, baby,” Patty orders, gently rubbing at a knot in her back. “You just saved the damn city, you deserve a break.”

Holtz forces a smile in return, allowing a little of the tension to slip out of her body. “Eh, breaks are for dudes.”

Erin’s back to griping about the dye again, and Holtz allows herself to zone out as much as she can, studying the TV screen without processing anything on it. The sounds of the cafe fade away as she watches moving figures flash across the screen, not recognizing any of them. 

She has that nagging feeling, the one where she feels like she should say something, but she’s not sure what, or how, or even really how to verbalize it. Holtz has never been good at talking about her feelings. She prefers to stick to machines for that.

But at the same time, she’s surrounded by love, for the first time in her memory. Patty calls Holtz her baby without hesitation, just casually, as easily as if it was her name. Erin doesn’t even flinch during Holtz’s stranger moments, nothing changing in her eyes when she can’t quite control herself. And Abby is Abby is Abby, and Abby is synonymous with family in Holtz’s mind. Abby means a house and a job and a hug and understanding and acceptance, Abby means laughing at her jokes but only when Holtz was trying to be funny and reassuring her that accidents are accidents and praising her machines when she proudly turns the last screw, Abby means  _ home,  _ and Holtz has a distinct feeling of being home.

Before her brain can quite process what her hands are doing, a rather annoying flaw that often crops up in her code, Holtz is tapping her pencil against her glass, barely concealing how it wavers as she trembles in anticipation. “You know what, I wanna make a toast.”

It feels like she should stand up, so she does, shifting a little in her clunky leather boots, worn and supple with time. She distinctly hears Erin mumble an “oh, no” under her breath to Abby, and even though she’s certain it’s another one of those teasing remarks the others hear as harmless jokes, it doesn’t feel like that, and blood rushes to her cheeks as she stares fixedly at the table instead of her friends’ faces.

“Physics is the study of the movement of, uh, bodies and space…” Holtz swallows hard, her voice suddenly husky as her words stumble out stiltedly. “And it can, um, unlock the mysteries of the Universe, but it cannot answer the essential question of…”

She stalls there, grappling to fight her feelings into words for a moment. Her feelings are so, so strong, so overpowering, like a tsunami crashing into the sand, and words are like a thin hose through which she’s trying to force that massive rearing wave of water. Words are so compressing, so blank, so flat, but she’s stuck with them, at least until she gets that telepathy machine figured out, and then she can share her feelings with the ones she loves on a deeper level than words could ever dream of. But that technology is still at least a decade’s length from her outstretched, grease-stained hands, so Holtz soldiers on, cringing at the obvious pauses as she searches for words that come close to doing what she’s feeling justice.

“...of what is our purpose here and to me the purpose of life is to love and to love is…”

There’s so much more she wants to say there, so much more that she wants to share with her newfound home. But tears are stinging at the corners of her eyes now, and every other word catches in her throat, and so Holtz prays that they will see in her eyes what her mouth can’t express and moves on with the best she can come up with in the moment.

“...what you have shown me. I didn’t think that I would ever really have a friend until I met Abby…”

A painful, bitter truth that hurts to speak out loud. Erin’s eyes widen before she can control them, and Holtz is acutely aware of how pathetic that sounds.

She hadn’t even believed Abby was real, not at first, and by at first she means almost a year. A year spent quiet and boring in the shadows, head down unless she was forcing eye contact with her new boss, a year spent starting to laugh and immediately suppressing it for fear of laughing at something bad, a year of no music and boring machines and no jokes and no fun. That was a Jillian year.

Sometimes Holtz is Holtzmann and sometimes she is Jillian. Other people like it more when she’s Jillian. But she likes being Holtzmann much better.

Abby likes Holtzmann, too. Likes her way better than Jillian. And that’s one of the highest on an eternally long list of reasons that Abby is home.

“.. and then I feel like I have a family of my own, and I love you.” Holtz blurts out the last sentence in one breath, already sinking back into her chair, adding a quiet “thank you” as an afterthought. She’s shocked by how close she is to tears, a massive lump swelling in her throat as she hunches forwards again, flushed and sniffling and trembly.

The others lightly clink their glasses against hers, and Holtz is pleasantly surprised to see nothing but warm smiles on their faces as she wipes her tears away on her sleeve. “That was like, a real thing, right there,” Patty assures her, setting down her glass for a moment. “That was...so real.”

And under their acceptance, Holtz burns brighter than she has in weeks, feeling brilliantly, unapologetically Holtzmann, without a trace of Jillian in sight. Jillian might be who she sometimes wishes she is. But Holtzmann is who she’s so, so much happier to be, and being loved for it only makes it easier.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The clock is just ticking over to one, but the lights are bright and the streets are loud in the city that never sleeps. Horns still blare, sirens shriek, and billboards flash as Holtzmann settles a cardboard box down onto her work table, expertly slitting through the tape with the blade of a box cutter. The others all went to bed long ago, after calling it a day on moving into their new headquarters. Even Holtz had tried to sleep, planning to start again in the morning, but she’s too excited to sleep. So it’s the boxes she’s turning to, all the boxes they’d managed to fit in the first load.

She’s positioning her radio on the ledge of a window when she hears her name. “Holtz?”

She spins around after making sure that the radio is balanced and safe to be greeted with Abby’s face, and her first thought is that she must have woken her up, but her face isn’t nearly bleary enough for that. In fact, Holtz doubts she’s slept at all, even though she’s slipped on her monkey slippers and flannel pajamas. “At your service.”

“Still hard at work, huh?”

“Always.” Holtz shoots her a grin as she lifts out one of her drills, setting it by the others of its kind. She knows that the organization will never last, but it’s nice to pretend it will, to sort her equipment into neat rows before it all inevitably returns to the chaos of her old lab. “No rest for the wicked, you know?”

“I don’t know what I expected.” Abby reaches into the box as well, pulling out a pack of drill bits. “Can’t sleep; might as well be useful. Tell me where this goes?”

Holtz hooks the handle of a drawer on the toe of her boot, pulling it out as she stretches up to place a book on the top shelf of her miniature library. “I’m trying something new. I’m calling it  _ organization. _ ”

“Who are you and what have you done with Holtzmann?” Abby teases, sliding the bits into place. “We’ll see how long this lasts.”

They work in companionable silence for a moment, Holtz directing Abby with nods of her head or pointed fingers as she sets to work on her bookshelves. She’s always loved to read, especially about the paranormal and engineering; her library has is her reference, her guide, and her escape. Anything she can’t solve in her head, she can solve in her books. Written words are much easier than spoken ones.

“Holtz? Can I ask you something?” Abby’s voice is quiet, a little subdued, and Holtz immediately gets the sense that Abby is afraid. Of what she doesn’t know, but there’s an unusual tension that lies beyond her words.

“Affirmative.” Holtz settles onto her desk, kicking her legs absentmindedly as she watches Abby. “Hit me.”

“Did you mean what you said...earlier, about, you know...I was your first friend?”

_ Okay. Damn. Okay.  _ Holtz blows out a heavy breath, staring down at her boots as she swings her feet. “Um. Okay. Um.”

“You don’t have to answer, not if it’s too personal or anything, just…” Abby’s face scrunches up a little as she pauses. “...really? No one else…? At all…?”

“No,” Holtz decides after a moment, nibbling a little on her lip. “No, I mean...I had Dr. Gorin, she started taking care of me when I was about sixteen...but she’s not really a friend, she’s my mentor, and we’re close, but...I’d pretty much resigned myself to a life alone when... _ someone  _ picked me up from the hospital to come work at Higgins.”

Abby smiles a little at that, resting her hand on top of Holtz’s. “Still can’t believe I got to you before someone else snapped you up, with that brain.”

“Nah, after...you know…” Holtz shudders a little at the thought of what happened at CERN, closing her eyes for a moment against the memory of the explosion. “No one in their right mind was gonna hire someone with baggage like that. Guess I’m pretty lucky you’re completely insane, huh, Abby?”

Abby gives a watery little chuckle and wraps an arm around Holtz’s shoulders, wiping at her eyes with the back of her free hand. “Trust me, Holtz, I’m the lucky one here.”

“Oh, Abby, you flatter me, you really do.” Holtz gently lets her head rest on Abby’s shoulders, sinking into her one-armed embrace. “What brings us to the topic of my pathetic social life this fine evening?”

“Just...just curious, I guess,” Abby says after a moment, her arm tightening a little around Holtz. “Curious as to how you managed to go thirty years before anyone noticed just how amazing you are. And I’m not just talking about the tech.”

Holtz laughs humorlessly, still focusing on the floorboards. “I feel like my good friend from CERN might disagree. That is, if he were conscious enough to do that.”

“That’s not your fault,” Abby spits out automatically, well-used to reassuring Holtz over the years they’ve been together. “It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t make it not my fault.”

“Holtzmann, come on.” Abby removes her arm from around her shoulders, turning to face Holtz. Holtz doesn’t look up, in no mood to fake eye contact, and Abby thankfully doesn’t make her.

“Holtz, it was an accident. It was bad, yeah, but it was an accident. You were twenty-three and you fucked up and yeah, it wasn’t great, but it was an accident. That doesn’t make you any less of an engineer, or a person, or my friend.” Abby squeezes her hand, her voice warm and passionate. “You’re absolutely amazing, Holtz, and it sucks that you had to be alone for so long. They don’t know what they were missing out on.”

Holtz lets out a shaky breath, her eyes burning for the second time today. She still can’t bring herself to look up, but she squeezes Abby’s hand in return, scraping up enough of her usual demeanor to summon a reply. “Imagine going through life without me. I know, it’s horrible even to think about.”

“It absolutely is,” Abby murmurs, and she’s definitely not joking. “It absolutely is.”

Holtz is quiet for a moment, words even farther from her grasp than normal. It’s impossible to string them together, impossible to bridge the gap between her and Abby. But that telepathy machine is still so, so far away, just as far as it was this afternoon, so she forces herself to try, her voice hitching as she stumbles through a verbal maze. 

“Why...Abby, why do you - why - why do you like me so much? You - you guys, I mean, all of you? Why?” She sounds soft, almost fragile, her voice trembling more than she’d like.

“Why do we like you?” Abby sounds almost incredulous, her eyes widening with disbelief. “You’re our generator, Holtz. You’re our energy. You hype us up when we’re at our lowest. You never get tired. Your brain keeps going and going until you find a solution. You put the ley lines together. You took out an army of ghosts  _ by yourself.  _ You’re fearless, you’re caring, and you’re the backbone of this operation. Without you, we don’t have a team. We don’t have jack shit, because without you and your absolute brilliance, we’d all be dead in the apocalypse. We love you, we need you, and you’re the bravest, most genius person I know. So if you think we’re gonna kick you out because you don’t do eye contact or you say something a little strange or whatever, think again, because you’re absolutely vital to us, and I can’t imagine how we’d even start to recover if we lost you.”

Holtz is silent again, then, except this time it’s because she doesn’t even know what she’s feeling. All she can recognize is relief. Abby would never lie to her, she knows that much. If Abby is saying all this, it means she means it, and that Holtz really is their generator. 

_ Generator.  _ She’s never been called a generator before. But it warms her to hear, and it’s a title she’s more than happy to take on. Jillian is boring. She likes being Holtzy the generator much better.

Words are still very, very far away, so Holtz makes do by burying herself into Abby’s arms, knowing that she’ll get the message. From the brush of Abby’s lips against her head and the subtle squeeze she gives her, Holtz knows it’s worked.

“Come on, Holtz.” Abby slowly slides off the table, easing Holtz down with her. “Let’s get some sleep.”


End file.
